


Exertion

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Original Work
Genre: Armor, Bath Sex, Bathtubs, Established Relationship, F/F, Massage, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "By the time she’s stepping through the door to her room, Marion can feel every pound of her armor crushing down against her body." After a long day of dungeon-crawling, all Marion wants to do is take a bath. Erystus has additional ideas.





	Exertion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cjburggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjburggie/gifts).



By the time she’s stepping through the door to her room, Marion can feel every pound of her armor crushing down against her body.

It’s not that she can’t bear the weight. On the contrary: her armor is so much a part of her regular adventuring attire that it feels more strange to leave it off than to bear the burden of it. She often has it on by the time the party gathers for breakfast in the common room of the inn and doesn’t bother changing out of it during what breaks they may take over the course of the day. She has built up the muscle and stamina needed to bear the plates across her chest and protecting her arms and legs, and she is hardly likely to sacrifice protection for a little less weight. But however accustomed she has become to the burden, by the end of a long day of adventuring even her carefully-honed strength protests the demands made upon it, and the relief that comes with stepping through the door of the inn and into the promise of safety is enough to slump her shoulders with the exhaustion she doesn’t let herself feel while they are still making their way through a dungeon.

She doesn’t hurry to her room. Appearances are important to maintain, even among those who have become as close as friends by virtue of their constant companionship on daily expeditions, and Marion isn’t keen on telegraphing her own exhaustion to the strangers who linger at the tables in the common room. She keeps her shoulders steady as their group picks its way through the room to the stairs leading up to their individual quarters, and when Sami and Terra retire to their own rooms she gives them a level nod and thanks for their support with as much composure as she would have this morning. Wynka keeps up a running patter of conversation as they make their way down the hall, but even her effervescence is quelled by their arrival at her own door. She ducks within with a wave to Marion -- and to Erystus lingering at her side -- and it’s only when her door shuts behind her that Marion moves forward to lead the way to the room she shares with her second-in-command. It’s at the end of the hall, a room distant from Wynka’s and slightly larger to accommodate the pair of residents instead of the individual rooms the rest of them have; Marion doesn’t make a terrible fuss over the extra space, but the double room comes with an enormous tub set in a smooth-tiled corner, and she was hardly going to refuse that opportunity. She strides forward down the hall, taking the lead without thinking about it, and when she turns over the lock she always latches for extra safety Erystus is right behind her to reach over her shoulder and brace the weight of the heavy door open for her.

“Thank you,” Marion says, meaning it more sincerely than she might were the consideration to come from someone else. As it is, with no audience other than Erystus she can let her shoulders ease from their rigid strain as she steps through the doorway and into the peace of their room. Erystus follows her, padding in Marion’s wake with the near-soundless footsteps that her delicate build and lighter tread allow her, and Marion leaves shutting and locking the door to the other woman. Her own efforts are turned towards her present most immediate priority: that of working free the weight of the armor pressing down on her as if threatening to make a cage of itself as her body’s energy flags beneath it.

There is a process to removing the weight of the metal strapped around her. Erystus helps Marion put it on, sometimes; especially when working around a pulled muscle or a partially-healed injury, some of the greater contortions necessary are difficult to manage. But Marion is in perfect health at present, besides the usual dull aches that come over the course of a day of adventuring, and she is in enough haste to free herself of the burden of armor to begin in on the ties holding it to her body while Erystus is still at the door. The vambraces covering her forearms come off first, followed by the curves of metal that span the majority of her upper arms; those free, her mobility is increased enough that she can strip off the heavy metal skirt that sheds blows from her waist and upper thighs before sitting at the edge of a chair alongside the bed to unfasten her greaves. It’s only once the majority of her armor is stripped free to lie in a heap at the floor that she finally reaches to the space under her arms, where short lengths of leather are knotted in place to fix her breastplate over her chest and back. It’s a relief just to undo the knots and ease a little of the tight-clasped burden over her body, and more of one to hook her thumbs under the shoulders and lift the weight up over her head. Her arms tremble with the weight, protesting this greater effort after their exertions over the course of the day, but the armor is only halfway off Marion’s head when the weight abruptly lightens as the scent of summer flowers announces the approach of another person.

“You know you could just sit still and wait for my help.” Erystus’s voice lacks the edge of judgment that it could carry; she sounds more amused than anything else, until Marion is sure the other woman is bearing the curve of a smile against her soft mouth. “I _do_ enjoy undressing you.”

Marion snorts and lets her hold go so Erystus can pull her breastplate up and free of her head entirely. “I don’t doubt it,” she says, shaking her sweat-damp hair back from her face as Erystus lifts her armor aside to set it carefully at the floor. “I’m not fond of keeping this on any longer than I have to, though.”

“I think I could make faster work of it,” Erystus says. With her hands freed of the weight of Marion’s armor she returns for the padding that is tied into place to protect the other woman’s body from the sharp edges of metal. Marion lifts her arms from her sides without protest to let Erystus’s dextrous fingers find the knots and work them free. “Then you could sit back and relax after the exertions of the day.”

“A pleasant prospect,” Marion allows, and ducks her head so Erystus can strip the sweat-heavy padding over her head as well. “I won’t deny being waited on hand and foot is tempting.”

Erystus’s laughter is as sweet as the smell of her hair and warm enough that Marion feels it as a pleasant tremor down her spine, even with her skin still unpleasantly sticky from the efforts of the day. Fingers touch against her tangled hair to draw the weight of it back from her face, clearing her vision at the same time the motion draws the whispering cool of a breeze across her scalp.

“I do pride myself on my talents of seduction,” Erystus says. Her fingers drag over Marion’s scalp, her thumbs slide down to brace at the back of the other woman’s neck; Marion’s head tips back in reflexive answer to the pressure against the knots that she has formed over the course of the day. When Erystus leans in over her the shadow of her hair falls over Marion’s face, dark enough to see even with Marion’s eyes shut on the ache of near-painful pressure at her neck. A shift in the air announces Erystus leaning closer; a ghosting touch draws across Marion’s mouth. “Are you yet won over?”

Marion groans in the back of her throat, a sound more rough than heated. “I’m disgusting, Erys.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Erystus purrs against her mouth before following the words up with another kiss, this a little deeper than the first. “I’d call you delectable, more like.”

“I’m a mess,” Marion protests as Erystus kisses at the side of her mouth and down over the curve of her jaw. “I think they can smell me two rooms away.”

“I like the way you smell.”

“You have strange tastes.”

When Erystus laughs her mouth is close enough to Marion’s skin that the purr of the sound hums to a glow in the other woman’s blood. “I think you mean discerning.” She kisses against Marion’s neck, below the other woman’s sweat-streaked jaw and in the shadow of her loose hair. Erystus lingers at Marion’s neck, marking a path down the other woman’s throat towards the tension of her shoulder, where the thin of her undershirt is clinging damply to her body, but when Erystus’s fingers slide to tug against the neckline Marion stirs herself enough to groan and lean forward.

Erystus draws back over her knees, where she’s sitting up on the bed, but Marion knows better than to take that as any kind of surrender. “No?” Her tone is bright, almost gentle with surprise; Marion would believe this unstudied, if she didn’t know Erystus too well to believe anything of the sort. “You’ve been working so hard. You’ll feel better for a little relief for yourself.”

“I might,” Marion says, and braces a hand at the edge of the bed so she can push herself upright with a groan. “I _know_ I’ll feel better after a bath, though.” She steps forward across their room, her footsteps falling heavily against the floorboards beneath her. “Is the water hot?”

“It should be,” Erystus says, not sounding at all put off by Marion’s near-refusal of her attempted seduction. “It looks like it’s still steaming.”

Marion crosses the room to stand at the edge of the bath so she can dip her finger into the water. It _is_ hot, warm enough to prickle pleasure up her arm but not so blistering that she flinches from the heat. She groans with anticipated satisfaction and lifts her hand free so she can reach for the laces of her pants.

“Thank goodness,” she says as she loosens the fastenings and strips the breeches off her legs to push them aside. “Right now I don’t even want dinner more than a bath.”

“Let’s get you what you want.” Erystus is back to purring over her words; Marion can’t hear the sound of the other woman’s footsteps as she approaches, her tread is too light for that, but she hears the sound of fabric falling to the floor just before Erystus’s fingers land a delicate touch against the sleeve of Marion’s undershirt. “You’ve earned it, you know.”

Marion snorts. “I know.” She strips her breeches free with some relief at the freedom from the clinging fabric, barely pausing to push them aside before she reaches for the hem of her undershirt so she can tug it up and free of her head.

“Let me do that” and Erystus’s fingers are interposing between Marion’s and the fabric, collecting the sweat-damp weight as if it’s a precious treasure as she slides it up off the other woman’s skin. Marion surrenders to this indulgence, only ducking her head to let Erystus peel the cloth over her rumpled hair; as the shirt comes free Erystus steps in to fit her foot between Marion’s so she can lean closer towards the other woman. Her shoulders come forward, her body fitting to lithe grace against the shape of the other woman’s, and Marion is not entirely surprised to feel the soft weight of Erystus’s bare breasts pressing against the sweat-stick of her side. Marion shakes her hair back from her face and turns her attention to stripping her underwear off her hips and down her legs without looking back to Erystus over her shoulder. “You’re going to get just as sweaty as I am if you do that.”

“Who cares?” Erystus asks, the question turning to a purr of appreciation on her tongue, and she doesn’t pull away as her fingers slide under the band of cloth wound around Marion’s chest. Her own breasts drag against Marion’s arm as she frees the other woman’s from the restriction of clothing; her nipples are tightening, whether from the cool of the air around them or the friction of Marion’s body is impossible to say. “We’re going to be taking a bath in a minute anyway.”

“It’s _we_ , now?” Marion submits to Erystus pulling the last of her clothing over her head before casting her gaze over her shoulder to land at the other woman. “I don’t think you really need one. You look as fresh as when we woke up this morning.”

Erystus smiles as she reaches to wind her arms around Marion’s neck. “That’s not true,” she hums, and leans in to press herself close against the length of Marion’s back. Marion can feel the sticky weight of exertion clinging to her skin as Erystus urges against her, but Erystus seems to feel no discomfort as she fits herself to the shape of Marion’s spine, curving with as much grace as if she truly is as boneless with elegance as she sometimes appears. Her hand at Marion’s shoulder slides down, her fingers wandering across the line of the other woman’s collarbone before slipping down to the topmost slope of her breast. “Weren’t you just saying I’m getting all sweaty like this?” Her fingers trail across Marion’s nipple, ghosting weight that manages to be the more intimate for how frictionless it is; Marion can feel the prickling sensation of it melting through the core of her to pool heat deep in her belly and reaching down towards her hips. “I’m sure I need to get clean just as much as you do.”

Marion lifts a hand to catch at Erystus’s wrist, clasping her hold to band callus-lined fingers around the delicate line of the other woman’s arm. Erystus takes no offense at Marion drawing her wandering fingers free; from the hum of a laugh she offers to Marion’s hair, this could be precisely the result she is looking for. “Alright then,” Marion says, and steps forward to draw free of Erystus’s hold around her shoulders. Erystus lets her go without clinging the tighter, but in exchange her hand in Marion’s grip twists so she can close her hold on the other woman’s wrist. Marion lets her, only sparing a glance back over her shoulder before she looks back to the bath and draws them both towards it. “Let’s start with that, then.”

Erystus laughs. “Yes, Marion,” she says, lilting into the illusion of obedience, and comes forward to follow the weight of Marion’s footsteps with the silent press of her own. It’s a show of surrender, nothing more, but it still makes Marion smile in spite of her aching muscles and sweat-sticky skin, and she is still smiling when she reaches to brace a hand at the edge of the bathtub so she can step into the pool of steaming water.

The sensation is blissful. Even with just one leg Marion can feel the press of the heat soothing the strain from her overworked muscles and easing away the gritty salt of sweat from her body; she wastes no time in following one leg with a second, and then in letting go of Erystus’s hand so she can brace herself at either side of the bath and lower her body into the heat of the water. Erystus doesn’t protest this, only moves to follow Marion so rapidly that the water level rises by sudden inches almost as quickly as Marion is seated, so the bath laps over the space between the top of her breasts and the line of her shoulders all at once. Marion groans satisfaction, easing herself farther back into the water to sink her neck into the heat as well while at the other end of the tub Erystus draws her knees up towards her chest and settles herself into comfort with all the casual grace with which she always moves. Normally Marion would be appreciative of this -- Erystus is a pleasure to watch, no matter what she’s doing -- but right now the immediacy of physical comfort is demanding the whole of her attention, and she has none left to spare even for watching water slide across Erystus’s slim arms or heat some flush of color to the other woman’s pale cheeks.

Marion emerges from the first haze of satisfaction after some period of time that goes unmeasured in the distraction of pleasure. Her hair is wet and drifting through the water around her; she ducks back to submerge it entirely, and after a moment to follow this with the whole of her head to rinse away the sweat crusted at her hairline and salty at the corners of her mouth. She emerges gasping, flushed by the heat of the bath and with every part of her body tingling with the pleasure of long-anticipated cleanliness, and it’s then that she pushes a hand to slick her wet hair back from her face and opens her eyes to properly look at Erystus.

The other woman is pulling the long weight of her hair up at the back of her head, twisting it into a bun that holds most of the locks free of the water. The few that are still loose to hang around her face are curling with the humidity, twisting to waves to frame her features; with the splash of the water lapping just below her collarbones she is the picture of unstudied beauty, bearing a natural elegance that Marion used to think was impossible before she met Erystus. With the comfort of the bath around her and her self-consciousness of her own grime and sweat easing with every breath of steam she draws into her lungs, Marion is fully content to lean against the back edge of the bath and let her attention linger appreciatively on Erystus with none of the uncomfortable comparison that might strike her at other times. Erystus keeps her gaze cast down for the first moments of Marion’s attention, her mouth pursed to focus as she twists her hair into place; it’s only as she lets her hands fall back to the water that she lifts her gaze, and then it’s to couple her attention with a smile so bright it glows warmer even than the steam from the water rising to a fog around them.

Marion heaves a sigh deep enough to sink her lower into the water as she sets it free. “I still don’t understand,” she allows as she tips her head back to rest heavy at the back lip of the bathtub behind her. “How _do_ you stay so beautiful all the time? Is it some kind of Celestrian magic?”

Erystus beams a smile at her. “It’s nothing magic,” she says, shifting in the water to get her knees under her so she can rise a few inches higher. Her breasts come above the surface with the motion, high enough to lift the dark flush of her nipples to view; Marion’s attention slides down, following the spill of the water to linger on the other woman’s body in spite of herself, and Erystus arches her back in response, drawing her arms up into a stretch that likely feels good and certainly urges her body to a graceful line for Marion’s appreciation. “Maybe it’s just the effect of being in love. That’s supposed to have a noticeable effect, I’m told.”

“Maybe,” Marion says, sounding as skeptical as she feels but not willing to put up the effort for more of an argument. “You’ve always been like this, though.”

“That’s because you’ve never known me before I met you,” Erystus says with easy certainty. She leans forward, reaching past Marion’s shoulder to brace herself at the edge of the bathtub so she can lean in over the easy slouch of the other woman’s position; Marion tilts her head back at the lip of the bath so she can look up into Erystus’s face as the other woman beams down at her. “So you’ve never seen me out of love.”

Marion snorts. “You’re saying you fell in love with me at first sight?” she asks. Her arms feel heavier than they ought to, as if her bones have gained all the dragging weight of lead, but she still musters the strength to lift one hand free of the water so she can touch her fingers to the curve of Erystus’s waist. Erystus gives way to the touch, her body shifting as if she’s melting even as she leans in closer to Marion slouching beneath her. “Wasn’t I in the middle of the biggest fight of my life at that point? I’m pretty sure I was covered in blood and hadn’t bathed in two days.”

“I know,” Erystus sighs dreamily. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Marion’s laugh surprises her with its sincerity. “You have such weird tastes, Erys.”

“Like I said,” Erystus purrs. “Discerning.” And then she’s leaning down, and Marion gives up the structure of their banter to shut her eyes and give in to the heat of Erystus’s lips against hers. The kiss is as warm as it was before, just as slow and lingering as the one they had on the bed, but with the tang of salt now well absent Marion can taste the clear sweet of Erystus’s mouth against hers, clean and almost-floral like the scent that seems to spill from her hair and glow at her skin no matter how long they have been without the comforts of an inn for their use. Erystus lets Marion kiss her for a long moment, with nothing more demanding than the familiarity of lingering tastes touching to the other’s mouth and reaching past the give of their lips, but Marion has no illusions about where this is going to lead, and when delicate fingers touch at the wet of her hair and stroke against the side of her neck she submits without any thought of protest.

Erystus’s hand settles at her shoulder, her touch gentle even as her fingers press comfort against aching muscles, and while Marion is shuddering with the relief of the contact Erystus slides in closer, drawing away from Marion’s lips to breathe hot over her mouth for the moment it takes her to draw first one and then the other knee in around Marion’s hips. It’s a tight fit for her to straddle Marion’s body, given the limitations of the bathtub around them, but Erystus grants it the seeming of perfect grace, as if there is nothing easier in all the world than urging her body to fit close against Marion’s. Her breasts press to Marion’s own, her thighs tighten around the lowest point of Marion’s waist, and when she slides down to settle her weight atop the other woman the wet friction of her body urging to Marion’s tightens at that heat in Marion’s belly, tensing across the tops of her thighs and clenching at her breathing until it spills to a groan in her throat. Erystus hums in the back of her throat, a note of perfect satisfaction as if she has landed the critical blow in a battle or seen some particularly clever tactic, and then her mouth is against Marion’s once more, and any further sound Marion might have made is caught and pressed to silence by the force of Erystus’s lips and tongue and mouth urging against her own.

They stay like that for a long span of time, with Erystus’s lithe body fitting to the exhaustion-heavy weight of Marion’s beneath her and the water lapping gently against their skin or up over the top lip of the tub when one of them moves too quickly, but for the most part they are slow instead of rushed, languid more than desperate. Marion feels the effort of the day scored into deep-muscle ache through every part of her, and even the heat of the bath around her is still only loosening and not removing those knots; but Erystus seems to be unaffected by the length of their day. She keeps moving, slowly enough to keep the water from spilling over the edge of the tub but with as much reach, as if she means to press her fingers to every inch of Marion’s body as surely as the water envelops her. Marion is hardly going to complain; however tired she may be, she can never refuse the persuasion of Erystus’s fingers against her, and whatever trials they made it through today have no apparent effect on the delicacy of the other’s touch.

Erystus wanders across Marion’s body, winding her fingers through the wet weight of the other woman’s hair and working idly at the knots in her shoulders before dipping down farther to shape the curve of Marion’s breasts against the support of her palms. Her thumbs trace slow-tightening nipples, urging prickling sensation through Marion’s veins to tighten at her breathing and pool heat in her belly before she moves down farther, sliding one hand along the curve of Marion’s waist to the line of her hip, presently pinned in place by the soft of Erystus’s thighs. Erystus doesn’t try to fit her fingers into the space between her leg and Marion’s; she just traces the line between their bodies, wandering against it as if with an idle touch. Marion isn’t fooled -- she has known Erystus too long for that -- but her nipples are still tight, aching under no more than the press of the water, now, and the heat in her belly is a pain, an ache greater even than what exertion has left in the span of her shoulders and the flex of her legs. She touches to Erystus’s waist instead, curling her fingers to steady against the other woman’s body, slimmer with less of the dense muscle Marion carries and smooth with an absence of the scattered scars Marion’s skin bears. Then Erystus’s fingers draw down to fit into the space between their bodies and part the wet-dark curls between Marion’s thighs, and Marion’s hand slides around Erystus’s back to spread her fingers at the span of the other woman’s shoulderblades as she leans in to shudder a moan to the angle of Erystus’s collarbone before her.

Erystus knows what she’s doing. She has spent the last minutes easing Marion’s body from the tension of exhaustion into the languid relaxation that comes with a hot bath and a span of peace; the seemingly idle path of her touch has stirred heat in place of exertion, has reformed those same knots of tension released from Marion’s shoulders in the form of desire Marion had thought herself too spent to feel. By the time Erystus’s fingers are sliding between her thighs to seek her entrance and brace against her clit Marion’s breathing has deepened, expanding into the space of her chest to fill her lungs with long pulls of air that she spends to moans at Erystus’s shoulder. Erystus’s touch slips over her, her fingers angling to urge up into Marion without hesitation, and as Marion tightens reflexively against the pressure inside her Erystus’s thumb works over her clit, offering the satisfaction of friction right where she wants it. Marion’s legs tremble, her body tightening and easing at one and the same time in answer to the persuasion of Erystus’s touch, and Erystus lifts her free hand from the water to wind her fingers into Marion’s hair and draw the other woman’s head back, dragging gentle pressure against her scalp as her wrist flexes to find a rhythm for the work of her fingers and thumb.

“Marion,” she purrs, her voice as warm as the steam around them and as dark as the weight of her pulled-up hair. Her fingers trail through Marion’s hair and settle at the back of the other woman’s neck; when she turns her head in Marion feels lips skim her forehead with a kiss. “You are so beautiful.”

Marion might argue this, at another time; she rarely has a claim to any adjective beyond intimidating while she’s in her armor, and she wears that so often it might as well be an extension of her body. But Erystus has timed her praise precisely, and Marion has no space to muster a protest or even really to feel one. She is helpless, stripped of her defenses as surely as Erystus freed her of her armor, and all that is left for her to do is to clutch at Erystus’s waist and gasp for humid-hot air from the pale of her skin. Erystus leans forward, pressing herself closer against Marion so the curve of her breasts crushes against Marion’s own; the friction of her skin pulls against the hard points of Marion’s nipples, urging them to greater heat as the steady stroke of her thumb offers the same persuasion against the other woman’s clit.

“Fuck,” Marion manages, blurting the word into heat enough that it comes out sounding more a plea than a curse. “Erys.”

“Marion,” Erystus breathes. Her voice is low and warm; her tone makes a caress of Marion’s name against the other woman’s ear. Her fingers stroke, her wrist angling back so she can slick her paired fingers deeper within Marion’s body; her thumb braces close as if to pin the rising swell of Marion’s pleasure in place against her hold. Her forehead presses against Marion’s temple; her breathing is hot at Marion’s neck. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you.”

There is nothing Marion can say to that reassurance-turned-promise, no answer she can think to give; and none she wishes to offer, if she’s honest. It’s enough to have Erystus straddling her lap, her lips hot against Marion’s ear and fingers working such elegant force within her, until Marion feels all the tension of the day coalescing to a single point deep in her belly, called there in answer to the work of Erystus’s fingers. Erystus is breathing hard, her inhales rasping as if it is Marion working into her and not the other way around; Marion can hear her own heartbeat coming loud in her ears as if to match itself to the sound of Erystus’s breathing. Her knees quake, her thighs flex up to tighten beneath Erystus’s weight; and Erystus rocks herself forward, grinding her hips against her wrist as her thumb drags against Marion’s heat-tight clit, and Marion breathes a voiceless moan and feels orgasm ripple through her in a long wave that spreads out from Erystus’s touch to curl at her toes and quiver in her shoulders and tingle heat all across her scalp. Her back curves to press her back against the edge of the tub, her head lifts to offer the part of her lips to the ceiling, and against her ear Erystus hums a laugh resonant with satisfaction and keeps moving to work every shudder of heat free of Marion’s body. Marion trembles with the force of it, of Erystus plying her with consummate skill, until all her strength has given way to slump her heavy and spent against the support of the bath behind her.

Erystus doesn’t pull away, even after she has drained Marion of whatever strength she had left after the exertions of the day. Her touch lingers, a steadying force as Marion trembles with the last aftershocks of pleasure; it’s only once those have faded to languid exhaustion that she draws her touch free, and then only to lift her hand to wind into Marion’s hair and urge the other woman’s head up to meet her own. Marion submits to this, willing to capitulate to Erystus’s whim even with her body feeling as if all her bones have melted away what support they once offered, and when Erystus’s lips meet hers Marion shuts her eyes and opens her mouth to welcome the heat of the other woman’s tongue pressing against her own. They kiss for long minutes, Marion slow and Erystus sultry, until Marion has recollected enough of her strength to find the attention to draw her hand away from Erystus’s waist and dip into the space between them.

Erystus shudders at the touch of Marion’s fingers against her stomach, drawing over the taut flex of muscle and down to the heat between her legs, but her hands are still gentle in Marion’s hair, and when she draws back it’s to blink heavy lashes at Marion and offer full sincerity in her voice. “You don’t need to,” she offers. “I can see to myself, if you’re too tired.”

Marion growls in the back of her throat. “You know I can’t let you do that,” she says, and lifts her other hand up to grip hard at the edge of the tub so she can pull herself to sit up in the water. “Not now that you’ve put it like that.”

Erystus’s smile says she knows this perfectly well without being told, but she doesn’t bother putting words to the fact. She just frees her grip in Marion’s hair, sliding her hands sideways to wrap both her arms around the other woman’s shoulders, and Marion leans forward into the support of Erystus’s body against her own as she twists her wrist to turn her hand palm-up before reaching to urge her fingers up between Erystus’s legs.

Erystus is ready for her. The heat of the water around them is doing its own part, of course, but even with the steam still rising from the surface Erystus feels fever-hot against Marion’s fingers, her body opening immediately for the other woman’s touch as if she were only waiting for the contact. Marion urges a pair of fingers up at once, feeling the heat of Erystus opening around her and gauging the desire in the other woman’s body before she slides her hand back so she can press a third finger alongside the first pair. Erystus’s spine curves, her shoulders flexing back as she lifts her head and shudders over a moan that breaks high and plaintive, but there is nothing but heat against Marion’s fingers, heat and the tremor of pressure that speaks more to pleasure than strain. Marion tightens her grip at the edge of the tub, and flexes her forearm where her hand is angled under the water, and when she starts to move it is with steady force, the strength of her action rather heightened than diminished by the short thrusts she is taking to pump her fingers within the other woman.

Marion can feel the immediacy of Erystus’s response. It’s clear just from the heat pressing around her fingers, the reflexive tension of Erystus’s body flexing and easing in time with the rhythm of Marion stroking within her, but Erystus is quick to give voice to it, too, as if she doubts Marion to be certain of her pleasure if she doesn’t speak it. Her throat flexes over moans, appreciation spilling from her lips and heaving in her chest; around Marion’s hips Erystus’s thighs flex to tighten around the other woman, straining as if to brace herself steady against the work of Marion’s arm and the fingers thrusting into her. Marion keeps moving, drawing on the reserves of strength within her that she musters to satisfy the demands of Erystus’s need, and Erystus arches back, her head tipping so the weight of her tied-up hair slides free of its restraint. The dark of it tumbles free, the curling waves spilling across her shoulders to drift across the top of the water, and Marion lifts her head to look up and see the curve of Erystus’s throat, the line of her shoulders, the wet curve of her breasts ivory-pale against the dark flush tightening her nipples to hard points. She is beautiful, an image of eroticism, of arousal arching itself to the very cusp of anticipation; and Marion strokes up with her fingers, and Erystus cries out in a brief, bright sound so clear Marion is sure it must be audible even on the ground floor of the inn. She shudders over Marion, her thighs trembling and fingers flexing and body clenching in waves of heat, and Marion breathes a long sigh of secondhand satisfaction and goes on moving, easing Erystus through the force of her orgasm and down the wandering descent into sated pleasure.

They are both still for what feels like a long span afterwards. Marion can feel the strain of effort in her shoulder and aching distantly in her wrist; but far more notable is the heaviness of satisfaction, the physical relief of her own orgasm and the warm glow of Erystus’s blending together to leave her thoughts as languid and warm as the bath has rendered her muscles. She’s slow in easing her touch from the other woman, and then only to catch her arm around Erystus’s waist; when she lets her hold on the edge of the tub go to tip herself back Erystus leans forward to follow her, dipping into the water until the bath spills up past the lip and splashes across the tile of the floor. Marion doesn’t sit up to lower the water again; she just slides her hand up Erystus’s back, who in turn presses her face to Marion’s neck to nuzzle close and heave a sigh of satisfaction to the damp heat of the other woman’s skin. Marion gazes out over the surface of the water, her attention idly catching at the play of a wave lapping at the edge of the tub and the dark of Erystus’s hair slowly sinking as water soaks the long curls. “Your hair is getting wet.”

“I know,” Erystus says into Marion’s neck, sounding as deeply content as if this was her goal all along. She winds an arm around Marion’s waist and shifts her weight to greater comfort atop the other woman’s lap. “It’s warmer like this.”

Marion slides her hand up Erystus’s back, shifting until she can catch at the trailing end of a long curl and wind it around a finger. “Alright,” she says, unwilling to argue the point, and when Erystus hums pleasure against her skin Marion tips her head in, and smiles, and shuts her eyes to let the warmth of the water take the weight of their paired bodies.


End file.
